Christmas Cookies
by EndangeredAccord
Summary: It was that time of year again. The time of year where stockings were hung, presents were wrapped, and good ol' Christmas cookies were made. Although, for a slightly dysfunctional family, making cookies can be funnier than one would expect.


It was that time of year again. The time of year where stockings were hung, presents were wrapped, and good ol' Christmas cookies were made. Although, for a slightly dysfunctional family, making cookies can be funnier than one would expect.

"Papa! Papa! I wanna make cookies now! Please, please, please?" Little America pleaded, tugging at England's pant leg. The Englishman peered over his book to look down at his young son. Sighing, he patted America on the head and stood up.

"Fine, fine. Get your brother," he replied, a small smile turning up his lips at the sight of the jubilation on America's face. America giggled loudly and ran down the hall, turning the corner into his room. England made his way to the kitchen and started pulling out the ingredients, mumbling to himself as he did so.

"Ohohon," a voice sounded behind him, "and what do we have here?"

"Bugger off, you old frog," he spat back, opening a pretzel bag.

The Frenchman laughed, stepping up to his English husband, giving him an innocent peck on the cheek. "If I'm old, you must be ancient."

England turned to him angrily, pushing him away with little force. "You're such an idiot."

France smiled coyly before taking his seat at the table.

"Papa! Let's make cookies now!" America yelled cheerfully, tearing down the hallway and into the kitchen.

"America, I told you to get your brother. What were you doing this whole time?"

"I-I'm right here, Papa," a small voice said quietly next to the American.

"O-oh! Right! I totally saw you!" England laughed nervously before turning back to his ingredients. "America, I'm going to put the dough on the cookie sheet, and I want you to pinch the middle a little so that it's a slightly curvy, okay?"

"Hahaha! You just rhymed!" America laughed loudly, earning an irritated look from England.

"Are you listening, America?"

"Yup!"

"So, what did I just tell you?"

"Um…I forgot."

England growled. "I told you to pinch the middle a tiny bit so that it's curved. Got it?"

"Mkay!" America ran over to the table and sat down, watching as his father cut small ovals from the peanut butter cookie dough and placed them on the cookie sheets.

"What about me, Papa?" Canada asked quietly, looking up at England.

"Oh! You get to take the chocolate chips and put them on as the eyes, okay? Make sure to spread them apart enough so that they aren't cross-eyed."

Canada giggled cutely and made his way over to the table, crawling into France's lap. England set down the knife and picked up the cookie sheet, bringing it and a few other bags to the table, setting it down in the middle. America stood up in the chair and leaned onto the table, looking over the oval slices of dough. "So, I pinch the middle like this?" He reached out his hand and slowly brought in the center ends with his thumb and index finger.

"Not too much, America. You only want them slightly curved." The Englishman cut open a smaller bag and set it in front of Canada who pulled out a chocolate chip and placed it into his mouth. "No, no, Canada. You use those for the eyes."

Canada looked up at England, then back to the chips, and then at the cookie sheet. Nodding, he pulled out a couple and reached out to put them in the dough slightly above the curves. The Englishman smiled and set the bag of pretzels down in front of France. "The pretzels are for the antlers. You put one on each side of the top."

France smiled and nodded, grabbing two pretzels and doing as he had been instructed.

"America! Don't lick your fingers after you touch the dough! You're getting spit all over them!"

"But Papa! My fingers are dirty! I can't help it!"

England glared at France, who had chuckled at the apparent innuendo (typical France), and then looked back at his son. "Then use a paper towel to wipe your hands."

America nodded. "What do I do now?"

"Well, I guess you can help me put the Red Hots for their noses."

England set down a rectangular box of little round red candies and pulled out a few, placing one just below the two chocolate chip eyes. America, however, grabbed one, looked it over, and plopped it into his mouth. After a moment or two, his eyes widened and he started fanning his face. "Papa! It's too hot!"

"You weren't supposed to eat it!" England yelled, walking to the fridge and grabbing the blue sippy cup of milk that sported a sticker of an American flag at the bottom. America spit out the candy and took it, quickly gulping it's essence down. He sighed and set down the cup, frowning.

"Papa, my tummy hurts."

"I wonder why," England replied sarcastically, finishing with the Red Hot candies. He looked over the cookie sheet and smiled, surveying their little reindeer cookies.

"They look so cute!" France cried, smiling widely. "Where did you find the recipe?"

"I got it from Finland," England responded, walking over to pre-heat the oven. "He knows all the best Christmas recipes."

"Daddy?" Canada asked quietly, peering up at France.

"Yes, mon Mattieu?" The Frenchman glanced down at his son who had an innocent look in his eye.

"Can we leave one out for Santa?"

"Of course! I'm sure he'd love one."

"You still believe in Santa?" America asked, stuffing a few chocolate chips into his mouth.

"Yeah," Canada answered quietly, looking down at his lap.

"He totally isn't real. What kind of fat guy can fit down the chimney?"

Canada whimpered, wiping the flowing tears out of his eyes pointlessly. "But Santa is real."

"America! Zip it! Be nice to your brother!" England scolded, walking over and snatching the bag of chocolate chips from him, much to the small nation's dismay.

"Aww, Mattieu, don't worry about it. Santa is real if you believe he's real," France said gently, rubbing his son on the back. Canada looked up at him and nodded, wiping his nose with his sleeve before laying his head on his father's chest.

England grabbed the cookie sheet and made his way to the oven, placing it inside and setting the timer for five minutes. He sat down at the table and looked over at the American boy who sat there with a pout on his cute little face. "I want you to apologize to your brother," he said effortlessly.

"What? But I don't wanna!" America barked at his father.

"You little bugger! If you don't apologize, you don't get a cookie!"

America grumbled and looked at the table, pushing his cheeks out. "Fine. I'm sorry, Canada."

His brother smiled and looked at America forgivingly. "It's okay."

"Merde! The cookies!" France yelled.

"How many times have I told you not to curse in front of the kids?" England shouted at the Frenchman.

"That's not the problem! There's smoke coming from the oven!"

England glanced at the oven, a horrified look on his face. "Dammit!" He yelled, jumping up and pressing the off button, opening the door to pull out the sheet after grabbing the oven mit.

"What does dammit mean?" America asked, looking over at France.

"Shut up for a second, America!" England shouted, setting the sheet down on top of the stove. "I don't know what happened! Maybe Finland told me something wrong."

France sighed. "How long were you supposed to put them in for?" He asked.

"Well, the recipe said eleven minutes on three-hundred fifty five degrees, but I thought maybe it'd be quicker if I doubled the temperature and halved the time."

Groaning, the Frenchman replied, "You aren't supposed to do that, you know. That's usually why you end up burning things." He shook his head and looked at his husband, who was still staring at the burnt cookies on the cookie sheet. Sighing he reached out and picked up a warm cookie, biting off a piece. It, surprisingly, wasn't too bad. "They look a little scorched, but they taste fine if you don't eat the black parts."

"And they're still cute!" America shouted, grinning at them. "Can I try one, Papa?" He peered over at his father expectantly.

England sighed and picked one up, halving it before blowing on them to make sure they weren't too hot for his children, then set them in his kid's awaiting hands. Each of them took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and nodded in agreement.

"It's good, Papa," Canada stated, making sure to eat around the Red Hot.

"Yeah! Ifs goodf," America said after having stuffed the cookie into his mouth. Both fathers gave him a displeased look to which he just grinned guiltily back.

"Alright, alright. Now let's go get your teeth brushed and get you into bed. Santa can't come if the children aren't asleep," England told his boys matter-of-factly. Canada and America jumped from their spots at the table and raced down the hall to the bathroom.

"Would you like some help putting them to bed?" France asked, standing from his seat.

England shook his head and smiled lightly. "I think I can handle it. I'll be out in a little bit." His husband smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss against his forehead.

* * *

France peered up from his book to smile at his exhausted partner. England looked over at him, his lips twitching up into a small smile. He grabbed the book from the blond and set it on the coffee table, snuggling into his lap. The Frenchman chuckled and wrapped his arms around the other, closing his eyes slowly. Normally, during the holidays, he would be at the bar getting drunk with his best friends; but this year was different. He chose to spend time with the one he loved, and it had been the best Christmas of his long, long life. England felt the same. Their kids were a pain in the ass, as was his French husband, but he wouldn't trade any of them for all the money in the world.

And like that, entwined together, they fell fast asleep.

* * *

That morning England woke to his cellphone buzzing in his pocket. Sleepily, he shifted in the Frenchman's arms to better reach it. He unlocked the keypad and gazed at the screen, which was alerting him of a new picture message from Finland. Slightly confused, he opened the text and blushed deeply when he caught sight of the photo of him and France asleep on the couch. Underneath it was a message that read: '_I just couldn't pass it up. You two look so cute. Oh, and the cookie was good, but try not to burn it next time. Hope you like your presents! Merry Christmas!_'

England glanced down at France who was still fast asleep. He chuckled lightly to himself and saved the picture to his phone before pressing a button to reply to Finland's message. In it he wrote: '_Merry Christmas_'. The Brit pressed 'send' and shoved his phone back into his pocket before snuggling back into his husband's arms. Might as well get a little more sleep before the kids decided it was time to open presents.

* * *

**Author Comments: This was just a little something I whipped up after having made Reindeer Cookies with my mom. x3 if anyone would like a picture of what they look like, then I'd be happy to upload one to my Deviantart and post a link!**

**Merry Christmas!**


End file.
